


Drunk Science

by intergalacticju



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Asgardian Ale, Drunk!Steve, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergalacticju/pseuds/intergalacticju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve once said that he couldn’t get drunk, and in the back of Tony’s mind he thought, “Challenge accepted.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunk Science

**Author's Note:**

> I chill out a lot with Floobin and the Stream, and one of her pictures prompted this. Through talking we decided we wanted lovey drunk Steve, so I made it happen. The picture she drew doesn't actually go with this.

Steve once said that he couldn’t get drunk, and in the back of Tony’s mind he thought, “Challenge accepted.”

They’re having a party. Well, technically, they’re having an intimate gathering with food and alcohol, because Tony Stark _knows_ parties, practically breathes parties, and this could barely be called a shindig at best. But the rest of them are calling it a party and he lets them, because they’ve all decided that liquor is excellent and he’d rather not cause any sort of distraction that would stop Clint from teaching Thor how to pole dance. That image there is... disturbingly hilarious, and he’d rather sit on the couch and watch it than cause a scene that didn’t need to be caused. Unlike him, maybe, but fuck you he is _tired_.

He’d had a long week. The baddie hadn’t even been that _bad_ , really. Just tedious. He didn’t want to say he disliked beings from outer space, but when they shot rays from prehistoric-looking cameras that turned people into stone, he had to admit there was some frustrated animosity there. Coupled with the fact that the Hulk had gotten hit (and for as much as he was impervious against, the Medusa’s gaze apparently wasn’t one of them), they spent a good portion of the day rounding up statues, and arguing over which ones were _actually_ statues, you had one desperately-in-need-of-a-drink Tony Stark by the end of it. Thank tiny robot Jesus for Thor and his damn Allspeak, or the whole mess might have lasted longer.

The alcohol flows freely and it tastes like ambrosia and whatever piss Clint has decided tastes good, and he’s not even drinking it straight from the bottle because he’s _classy_ like that. Thor had decided earlier to break out his stash of Asgardian ale, which, _yes_ , okay, that is a great idea, Tony is _loving_ this idea, because this means he gets to _experiment_ , and if college taught him anything it was that drunk science was the best science.

Or probably the worst, he doesn’t really remember, but to be fair he had been trashed most of the time.

Everyone has some but Bruce, who has decided to sit out the drinking. Steve declines on principle, but Tony really is having none of that, because Steve drinking was sort of the _point_. “Come on, Cap, do this for me,” he says, insists really, and he’s already pouring Steve a glass before he has time to protest. “Worst case is, well, _nothing_ will happen, and you can’t really argue those odds.”

“I thought the worst case is I’ll get drunk.” There’s amusement in Steve’s voice but he takes the glass anyway, eyeing Tony as he takes the first sip.

“No, that’s the best... You’re really not grasping the concept here, are you?” Tony waves his hand impatiently, urging Steve to continue, and he gets a smile for his efforts before the good captain complies.

“Should we be worried at how adamant you are about this?” Bruce asks, sitting on the floor with his chin in his hand, elbow propped on his knee, his attention split between Tony’s antics and Clint’s lesson. Natasha is sitting next to him, the edges of her lips quirked as she leans up to slip a dollar bill in the hem of Clint’s trousers, both of them looking for all the world like this was not the first time they had done this.

“We should always be worried when Stark has that manic grin,” Clint quips, winking as Tony flips him off with a smile.

“Fuck me, Barton.”

“Noooooooo thank you.”

Steve has been sitting on the floor in front of the couch, his glass on the coffee table in front of him and a smile plastered on his face. The alcohol tastes strong but it burns out before it can do anything, and he doesn’t much care for it. Tony starts drinking from his own tumbler again, watching Steve as the liquor attempts to knock him on his own ass. He gestures to the glass again, waving his hand in circles.

“Steve I don’t think you’re getting what we’re trying to accomplish here. In order to get drunk you have to _drink_ , come on, there you go.”

“I can’t get drunk,” is the mumbled reply, and Tony just gives him a _look_.

“Not on the normal stuff, but this is _alien super booze_ , meant to kick gods in the nuts and then have sex with their moms, pretty sure it can take you out, but you gotta _want_ it. Don’t disappoint me here.” This earns him another grin, Tony raising his glass and Steve following suit, and then it all just seems to spiral from there.

Tony keeps pouring but he stops drinking after a while, the emphasis of “kicked nuts” rattling around in his brain. He’s secretly proud of himself for that one, because all too easy would it be to get completely wasted with Captain America. There’s an inner need to keep an eye on him despite Bruce playing “designated driver”, and he finds his own Cheshire grin stretching as he realises that it’s actually working. He had a feeling that it was going to, but there was that underlying doubt.

Steve’s a pretty mellow drunk for his first time. His cheeks have flushed bright and he doesn’t stop grinning dopily, eyes half-lidded and content as he watches everyone else. He spends the majority of the time under the influence resting his head on Tony’s leg, chuckling warmly at everything and nothing. He sometimes idly presses his fingertips into Tony’s shin, feeling the bone there, and out of nowhere he’ll calmly state “I love you guys”, which is returned back with smiles and laughter. He gets up once to put his glass away, because fuck if Cap’s not that kind of guy, and then he’s flopping back onto the couch, leaning heavily on Tony’s shoulder.

The invasion of personal space bothers him and doesn’t. He’s still feeling pretty buzzed and he can admit that having a shoulder-full of Steve Rogers is pretty fucking nice, but the hesitancy still lingers. It doesn’t help that Steve is burrowing his face into Tony’s neck, sighing out in contentment as if it’s the one place he wants to be. The inebriation isn’t going to last long, has been dwindling down faster every second, and when it burns out he’ll have to deal with Steve fleeing. He can’t bring himself to nip it in the bud, because Steve _is_ pressing his head into his neck and he _wants_ it. This wasn’t what he was planning when he had decided he wanted Steve to get drunk, but now that it’s presented itself he’d rather it stay.

And then Steve murmurs, “You’re my favourite,” and well, that’s just fucking icing on this cake isn’t it? It’s so soft and so sweet that Tony can’t help but grin bitterly, brushing his fingers against Steve’s shoulder and arching a brow.

“Yea?” He gets a nod in return, his fingers still hovering, and his smile falters. “You’re only saying that cos you’re drunk,” he replies just as softly, avoiding looking down at him in favour of the others. Clint had long since stopped trying to teach Thor moves, instead perching on the arm of a chair and swaying while Natasha's sprawled out on the floor in gentle conversation. Steve shakes his head, eyes open and staring up at Tony, still grinning lazily.

“I’m not drunk.”

Tony looks down at him, brows furrowing. He’s looking for an answer but all he can see is a happy Cap. “...You’re drunk.”

“It’s almost gone.” Steve settles further against him, watching the others as well. The high flush he was sporting was practically gone now, and he looks less doped up and more sleepy. He makes no indication of moving, either, would rather sit there in comfort than move.

“Buzzed then.” Because Tony would rather make the excuse, would rather have the loophole to allow Steve to escape. Steve just shrugs his shoulders noncommittally, yawning.

“Maybe. Does it matter?”

“Does it?” Tony asks, and the question is loaded, but Steve’s pretty good at staring down the barrel of a gun without flinching.

“I don’t think so.”

Tony laughs. What is he supposed to even say to that? Steve grins against him, patting him on the stomach once and then letting his hand rest where it falls. It’s so easy for him to just close his eyes here, to feel them both breathing and to be so incredibly lazy. They probably deserve it, being lazy, nobody should dare judge them for it. Tony gives a quick nod and rests his head back, still grinning, his arm wrapping around Steve’s shoulder.

“All right then.” He agrees, and he _is_ still buzzed so he’s going to let this happen.

“Okay.”

They sit there companionably, the gentle murmurs and laughs of their friends hanging in the air. It’s no time before Steve drifts off, the slow rise and fall of his chest so easily mimicable. He shuts his eyes and grins because, damn, as far as experiments go this one was rather successful, for being a careless and practically unscientific one.

Well then, maybe drunk science _is_ the best science after all.


End file.
